


A Frightening Thing

by Eaven



Series: Memento Mori [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blackwatch, Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-20 01:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eaven/pseuds/Eaven
Summary: Death is a frightening thing and Genji seems to be the only one to hold any answers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a twisted companion piece to [this](https://my-ultimate-is-ready.tumblr.com/post/177593451088/10-seconds) beautiful story by [Inde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inde). All I actually wanted to write was the third chapter, inspired by a conversation we had and my weak attempt at working through grief. Everything else just happened (and went completely out of hand) but who am I to stop myself from writing.

I

It’s 2:26 a.m. when the group chat finally calms down.

The first to not answer anymore is Jesse, his messages taking longer than earlier until they eventually stay absent.  
Second to leave is Jones, who - after a final goodnight-text - puts her phone away, the small light source on the other side of the room vanishing.

“Hope you get some sleep” she whispers. “Good night”

You hear the bedsheets rustle until she finds a comfortable position. Then there‘s only silence filled by steady breathing and your own heartbeat.

“Sleep well”

Turning in your bed as well, the rustling of your own sheets seems awfully loud. In an attempt to not disturb your friend’s sleep, you tug your phone under the covers. It’s as if you‘re a child again, staying up longer than you’re supposed to, still reading long after your parents went to bed.

The Insomnia has its claws tight around you. Running on around three hours of sleep in the night, the days have been rather exhausting. It gets manageable after the fourth coffee - Jones is the expert on that and her coffee has yet to be outmatched - but your body is on edge, exhausted and the sleeplessness is not only showing in the dark circles under your eyes.

Anxiety hangs above and behind you like a dark ominous shadow, just at the corners of your vision. You’re nervous about nothing in particular and everything all at once. Sometimes it is difficult to concentrate, you‘re forgetful these days and your reactions are more than mediocre. 

Sifting through the internet, you soon enough lose yourself in the depths of the World Wide Web. It’s silly videos of animals, simple DIY tutorials and dark humorous posts to cope with the state of the world.  
Once or twice you debate about getting up for a walk, but the bed is too comfortable and you‘re still neatly tugged under your covers. There's no real reason to leave that comfort.

Watchpoint Gibraltar lies in deep, deep slumber.

The message arrives with a loud _ping!_ , making you drop your phone right on your face.  
Of course that would happen.  
With a low huff, you nestle yourself out of your covers, turning on your stomach and propping your arms on the pillow, recovering the phone from somewhere under your blanket.

Checking the lockscreen, it appears to be a black picture, send by Genji. It’s 3:44 a.m..

Opening the chat, you can distinguish a slight purple hue creeping down from the top of the image, until it drops into pure darkness. It’s not the first such picture he sends you - you have send at least twice as much to him since your stay on the Overwatch facility - and you know exactly what you are looking at.

Genji send you a picture of the night sky.

Slowly crawling out of the bed, you dress as quietly as possible before picking up the boots standing at the end of your bed and sneaking out of the room. You hear Jones huff and turn, before her phone gets turned on. She shoots you a quick smile on your way out before opening her messenger. Outside, small lights cover the hallway in cold neon white. Tying up your shoes, you hop down the hallway. After turning around a few corners, walking through some more poorly lit hallways, you settle into a slow, comfortable walk. 

Contrary to the busy hectic during the day, the Watchpoint seems abandoned at night. White lights and red blinking machinery on different towers are the only hint of life on the island.

You walk your way up to one of the cliff sides, close to the hangar where multiple dropships are stationed. While some parts of the facility are guarded at night, the hangar is unattended besides the presence of a few bots circling the far end of the island. Not far away, the shuttle manages to drop a giant shadow over most of the island. With all the things being possibly stolen, nobody can steal a space shuttle without having someone notice it. 

The sky is not as black as the picture makes it out to be. Even with most lights inside of the buildings, the sky above the base is polluted enough to shimmer in a distant, faint hue of purple and red. Still you can see a few stars blinking down at you. This is only a hint of what you will be seeing soon enough.

In front of you, the shuttle pierces through the night sky like a dark, light-consuming dagger. Getting closer, you once again remember the first time he brought you to his spot beneath the shuttle. You collected some neat bruises and scratches. Only after you managed to climb up, did Genji show you the hidden stairs, making ascending the building a far simpler mission. Of course he was being a brat and let you almost fall to your death first.

Your climb towards the shuttle is accompanied by the low echo of your boots scraping on metal.  
Still, it is eerily silent. You can hear the sound of waves crushing against the cliffs way down below, yet, nothing hints to the fact that another human is anywhere close.  
Of course, Genji probably heard you since you stepped out of the hangar.

Slowly but steadily, you manage to climb the building until you finally, with a low, suppressed huff, reach the top. Scrambling to your feet, the view greeting you takes your breath away again.

In front of you is nothing but the wideness of the ocean. Above, the sky is a clear black, dotted by hundreds upon hundreds of stars. Small waves, showing themselves in glistening ripples on the surface of the ocean, bring the water at the bottom of the cliffs to life. In the far distance, the rotating light of a lighthouse dances across the waves like a ghost, strange shadows wandering over the cliffs.  
It’s a scenery of utter beauty.

Only a few steps away, at the edge of the building and right above the cliffs, sits Genji.  
You can only see his silhouette, harsh edges of a dark figure in front of a glistening ocean and sky.  
His presence at the edge of the ocean feels tragically lonely. 

Without uttering a word, you settle down next to him.  
Genji sits cross-legged, facing the sea. You know he noticed you but he does not greet you.  
Red, gleaming eyes fixated on the horizon, you lean back, arms supporting your weight while you let your head hang back, staring into the night sky. 

Minutes pass, you hear him breath, the wind rustling though both of your hair, his metal parts scraping across the floor with the slightest movement, the crushing of the waves below like the faint static noise of a TV.

“How was your day?” you ask him, not to break the silence - his silence turned into comfort long ago - but because you heard rumors and know all too well there‘re always two sides of the same story. If you look closely you can make out the faintest of bruises on his temple. Genji never rests and he fights everyone and everything. His whole life seems to be one giant fight.

Genji huffs, shrugs and lets one of his legs dangle off the cliff. His foot bounces against the structure you are sitting on and the chiming of metal on metal rhythmically fills your ears.  
“I heard you got into a fight with Jesse. Again” you nudge and stare back into the sky. There’s no reason to pressure him. It’s always just been him against the world, he does not easily share secrets. Or feelings.

“Oh, yes”

His answer is a few heartbeats too late, his response forced and judging by the way he speaks, he already forgot again. 

“I don’t remember really...”

Breathing out, a cloud of hot air forms in front of your mouth before dissolving into the night. You straighten yourself, tired bones creaking when you move closer to him, your feet joining his over the edge of the cliff. Staring into the sea below is frightening and feels dangerous and you feel the adrenaline slowly pulsing through your veins. Looking at Genji, he’s as distant and cold as ever, but there is something sad about the way he holds his body, shielding himself from the world around him. Shoulders tense, head low, always on edge.

Your hand settling next to his, you whisper “Are you alright?”

For a moment he seems startled, never expecting someone would actually care. But you do care. So much.

“Yes” he answers but you stare at him in disbelieve and with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course... but really?”

Another heavy breath before he moves and looks at you.  
Through the red shine of his eyes, Genji looks tired. Dark circles under his eyes, white scar tissue prominent in the cold light of the moon, he looks exhausted at best, deeply scarred - emotionally and physically - at worst.  
You already know the latter is reality.  
Today it seems to hold him closer than usually.

“It’s just cold today” barely audible over the noise of the ocean.

His answer is true in its statement and yet far away from the actual truth.  
Still, you press on, your own thoughts getting the better of you. It’s just another one of many mistakes.

“Genji?”

He nudges his head in your direction, he’s listening and you continue.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

The wind is howling around the buildings, the waves crashing relentlessly against the cliffs below.

“No”

The sting his answer causes hurts. Yet, you are more than willing to accept his boundaries. It is not the first time you ask him, around a dozen times the same question already left your lips, uttered in quiet moments of shared solitude. It was an awful idea to ask tonight, when he seems to have trouble keeping his demons at bay. One day he will say _’yes’_ and you will wait until that day arrives. You take a few moments, let his answer settle in order to collect your thoughts and show him that you respect his words.  
You knew he would decline again the moment you uttered the words into the night.  
Picking up before your question, you give him a rather rational explanation for the cold.

“I think it’s the island. It’s only February and we are surrounded by the sea and wind and salt. The last time I didn’t freeze was probably Kabul. And hey, it’s around 4 a.m. right now, what do we even expect?”

“Yes, it probably is”

Once again his answer is slow, dragged out but he shoots you a look before staring off into the distance again.  
You follow his gaze, eyes wandering over endless waves of water before losing yourself in the depths of the sky, stars twinkling down at you.

Not long and you are chilled to the bone. A slight shiver has taken hold and although Genji seems unaffected by the wind and the cold of the night, you’re freezing and shaking uncontrollably.  
You tuck your hands under your tights, the metal beneath being at least not as frosty as the metal around you. 

“You should try and get some sleep” Genji mentions, glancing at you and seeing you shake.

“Wha-? Nah, I’m fine” you laugh with chattering teeth, brushing his concern off with a wave of your hand.

“I would be a gentleman like the cowboy but I do not wear a jacket or flashing red cape to offer you” his words sound bitter and he quickly averts his gaze.

“Not like there’s anything left that could freeze” he mumbles, words only caught by you thanks to the biting wind. 

“Genji...” you begin but he cuts you off with a violent shake of his head.

“You should go”

Getting send away is a common theme.  
You care but he’s retreating and you know, pressing on will only cause harm at this point. He lashes out, the training bots have shown that much, and even the fights with Jesse get physical sometimes. The beginning was far worse, broken noses and broken fingers but by now it’s mostly insults.  
But his words can hurt too and you know he is sorry for the times he said the wrong things but all that the trauma caused is more violence.

Slowly you stand, hands shoved into to depths of your pockets, knees trembling. 

“Try to catch some sleep too, alright?”

He continues staring at the ocean, but his eyes lower, he’s in thought, haunted by the same old demons. You hope one day he will win the endless fight against them. You hope one day he will find some resemblance of peace.

Leaving him there feels wrong, but the knowledge that he wanted you to join him in the first place helps. You don‘t want to be invasive, want to give him space and time and whatever comfort you can give and he needs.  
Getting send away again still stings.


	2. Chapter 2

II

She‘s quiet, lips pressed together and hands hauntingly cold, ghosting over his skin, eyes bright and never leaving his face.  
She giggles when he touches her right spots, hums when he takes his time while a low growl builds in his chest.  
She‘s quieter than most girls he had but loud enough for him to know she enjoys his attentions.  
Only in the end she closes her eyes, a complete surrender - breaking her own rule of always keeping a shroud of phantom-control. Nails digging into his back, she scratches over metal and skin. The noise it makes lets his skin crawl.

It‘s something he carries over from his past life - pretty girls tangled in his bed sheets.  
Genji wants it to be nothing more than a simple, meaningless fuck. 

And so, in the end she’s quiet again, her hair tousled and cascading over the pillows. Some strands stick to her scalp, her eyes are glassy and her cheeks flushed. Once he comes down again, breath slowing while his heart still tries to catch up, seeing her like this becomes too private and he becomes almost scared of her bare and intimate presence right next to him. 

But then again, he can feel the comforting heat radiating off of her, sees the afterglow of sex on her flush body.  
And he likes the way her lips are drawn into a soft, content smile.  
He likes the way her lashes seem to catch the light every time she slowly blinks. He also likes the way her small hand wanders over his shoulder, tracing scars, even if her touch is still somehow cold.

Yet he turns on his side, facing the wall rather than her face with the eyes that seem too kind for this world. Genji hears her move before her hand is on his back again, tracing scars and scratches she just left moments before.  
He knows she‘s careful to only touch skin now.

What he likes most of all is her simple, reassuring presence. Maybe it‘s the simple existence of another warm body next to his. Maybe it‘s her steady breathing. Maybe it‘s just the simple fact that she‘s utterly and completely human and alive. When she‘s around, quietly lying next to him, all the loud thoughts in his head get a bit quieter, the dragon waging war in his body calming down to a restless, exhausted slumber.  
Maybe it‘s her, maybe it‘s just the ghost of habits he carries with him still after death.  
Her hands retreat from his body, her fingers leaving cold trails where they lingered last.

“Genji...”

Her voice seems to echo through the small room.  
They‘d been lying like this for a small eternity and it takes him another heartbeat to find the courage to turn and look at her.  
The flush on her face is gone and so is her smile. Her eyes are still tender but sad, covers pulled up to her chin.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Somehow, Genji is impressed by her stamina. It‘s been months since she last asked, back on Gibraltar with the stars above and the sea below.  
It had been a bad day, just like all the other days she decided to ask.  
Now they are back at the Blackwatch Base, normal routine ensured, meaningless sex in his small, cold bedroom.  
He‘s tempted to decline again.

She looks at him but there‘s nothing daring, no force behind her stare. She waits for his answer in a neutral, almost shy way. He knows she‘s bracing herself for another _’no’_.

“Yes”, he breaths instead and for a split second, he regrets doing so. It‘s a risk showing himself, giving out truth he might not be willing to share. Yet, he knows he can still backpedal, send her away and go to bed after a nice, simple fuck. Nothing more.

But she smiles at him and one of her hands sneaks out under the blanket, catching his in a soft, small squeeze. A silent _’thank you’_ leaves her lips.  
Genji had no idea it means so much to her.

He watches her while she prepares her question. For all the times she asked him already, she now seems helpless, unsure on her actual question.  
His hand lies limp in hers but she does not let go.

With a heavy swallow, her voice fills the room once again.

“Does it hurt to die?”

The look she gives him feels like a burden. Her eyes stare at him as if he holds all the answers. He doesn’t.  
He pictured a lot of questions, but this question catches him off guard. For a brief moment, Genji’s mind is stumbling, going back to the night where he drowned in arrows and blood, stars and cherry blossoms. 

The cuts hurt, the arrows and the blades hurt. Most of all the betrayal hurt.  
Hanzo’s eyes still haunt him, tears trailing down his cheeks, the agony every time he struck him again and again and again.  
Maybe the betrayal of his brother hurt more than the wounds he inflicted on him. Maybe the mental damage was even more scarring than the physical one.  
Genji could have lived with a separated limb but not with the knowledge that his own brother swung the blade.

Contrary to the gruesome bloodbath repeating itself every night in his too loud mind - Dying itself was rather calm.  
Once he had hit the ground, once all the wounds were inflicted, all the blows delivered, it had been the most beautiful night.  
His trauma did not just stem from death, but from the lonely, bloody and personal betrayal.

With no cloud upon Shimada Castle, the stars had shone in all their beauty. Genji still remembers the smell of the cherry blossom trees, the way the old wood creaked and breathed around him. The wind had picked up petals and they had been carried up into the night as if they were on their own peaceful journey to touch the stars.  
Oh how much he had wished to touch the stars that night.  
Dying had been nothing more than slipping into an eternal, deep slumber. 

It takes some time to put his thoughts in place, getting in control of his mind, chasing the pictures away into the dark corners he does not dare to go.  
Eventually, she comes back into focus, bare skin visible where the blanket does not reach, eyes locked on him, patient.

“No...” he says slowly and it is not sufficient for the things ghosting in his head.

“The wounds that fatally wound you hurt, but dying... dying is peaceful. It’s like falling asleep after an exhausting day. You just… slip away”

Genji can smell the cherry blossoms again, can taste the blood and the tears and he can hear the cries of his brother, who should have no right to cry.  
It had been peaceful, once the realization had settled in that it would all come to an end now, all the intrigues, the hurt, the fights - everything would come to an end and in the wake of his death, Genji had welcomed his end with open arms. 

Yet, he had felt utterly and totally alone.  
While the wounds had still wreaked havoc in his body, while the pain had made him shiver and convulse and tremble, there had been not a single soul at his side. Really at his side, not wallowing in self-pity for committing brutal murder.

Years ago, when his mother had died, his father held her hand, caressed her hair, mumbled sweet nothings into the room that smelled of all those heavy scented jasmine candles she had loved so much.  
With Hanzo, who sat at the other side of her bed, hands dutifully in his lap, a perfect mask of sorrow and mourning plastered on his face.  
Genji had just sat there, next to his older, noble, honorable brother who was so perfect at everything he touched. Instead of mourning or crying, Genji had been angry and he had felt nothing but blinding anger for his mother for leaving and her illness for taking her and the world for simply continuing on.  
Later when his anger had calmed, the void her absence left had been far worse to cope with.  
But regarding her own death, she had died with her family close by, always touching, knowing everybody was there, right beside her, until _she_ wasn‘t anymore.

Dying was just slowly slipping away, his body shutting itself down after too much hurt, too much tragedy and too much pain. Once the pain had become just a distant buzzing in his body, like the singing of birds in the background, soon to be drowned out, it had been calming. But with the cries of his brother in his ears, he had felt utterly lonely. Nobody to hold him, nobody to tell him that it was going to be okay. He knows she’s most likely not going to face the betrayal of one of her own, yet a lonely death seems to be a cruel one.

“The wounds hurt, dying doesn’t” Genji repeats “But dying alone is scary and maybe that’s the real hurt.”

Focused on something only Genji can see, he closes his eyes and when he opens them again, she is still there right in front of him, eyes and mouth and hands heavy and sad. A few times she tries to answer but stops before any word leaves her lips. 

Eventually she settles on simply holding his hand, retreating back under the blankets, soft and cold.  
She does not dare to move closer while Genji still tries to battle down the waking demons in his mind. Lying in bed seems suddenly unbearable, he leaves the comfort of the sheets, gets his clothes and dresses. Another habit from past days.  
There‘s not much else he can distract himself with in his small, bare room.

“I’m sorry” she whispers. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine” Genji lies and aimlessly walks around the room.

Trying to calm himself, he stops, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

"Why this question? You could have asked anything and you ask about... this?”

“Death is a frightening thing.”

Her confession is unexpected but it‘s honesty echoes through his room. 

“I mean...” she hesitates, gulping before continuing with a quiet voice. He can hear her hesitation, feels the fear spreading through the room. “I probably will die on a mission, every time we risk our lives - and there will be a moment that will become _my_ moment to... to die” 

Genji wants to reply with the generic _’You won‘t die’_ but it’s another lie and they both know it. Their job is risky and none of them will make it over their 30s he presumes - his words would count as a white lie but he isn’t able to force it over his lips.

“Tell me it will be okay?” she still asks after his silence apparently becomes too much for her and Genji hears the plea in her weak voice. She’s desperate for reassurance but he does not know if he’s the one able to give it to her.  
Turning his head he can see her sitting now, sheets wrapped around her body, dark hair framing a sad face.

“Hope it will be quick... hope you’re not alone” is all he can offer her. She bites her bottom lip and Genji knows he failed. Instead of staring at her, he turns again, wandering off to the sink in one corner of his room. He rather stares at his metal reflection instead of seeing her frightened eyes.

The small mirror hanging over the sink is a bit askew and of bad quality. His own face stares at him with a hint of unfamiliarity, the mirror warping his features into those of a familiar stranger. Yet his red eyes look at him with anger as if it’s the only emotion they are able to portrait. 

All the parts that make him non-human glisten coldly in the dim light. They are a bitter reminder of his afterlife - turning out to be just _another_ life with the body of his old one, utterly wrecked, and a mind that is not able to cope with the aftermath of his death.

Genji swallows and braces himself for his next words while trying to restrict the tight feeling in his chest, the feral dragon in his mind.

“You should go”

He can hear the way her breath hitches, air being dragged into her lungs through clenched teeth.  
Genji stares into his own glowing eyes with anger for himself and the ruthless world around him.  
He’s been alone dying and even in life he was now prone to pushing everybody away. He had never been good at letting people close, now he wasn’t even trying anymore. It seems to be easier this way. He cares for her, cares for the whole damn squad who so willingly throw themselves into the line of fire with and for him. Cares for them in his own, invisible twisted way.  
But Genjis anger is still all consuming, his get-together with death still too close, too personal and he cannot bear having anybody close. He’s going to lick his wounds as long as it takes to feel human again.

He can hear her suppressed sniffling and he does not want her to die but he’s the wrong person to comfort her. Death has been his only companion through most of his life. Now it feels as if he has become death himself.  
Somehow he takes her fear personal.

It takes a while before he hears the sheets rustle, hears the padding of her bare feet on the plain PVC floor. He can hear her dress herself again. Hears the way she forces her breathing to be steady, to not escalate into the fast-paced hiccups that overwhelm her every time she’s close to crying. 

She leaves without another word, only the occasional gasp for air leaving her lips in the weak attempt of not giving herself away. Genji knows she’s crying and he knows she doesn’t want to, most of all doesn’t want _him_ to know but he’s been prone to study the people around him and so he knows.

Once the door clicks shut behind her, Genji tries his best to calm his racing heart.  
It doesn’t matter that he send her away. Doesn’t matter that she left. Her question took away the meaninglessness of her visit and he feels heavy when he stares at his reflection.  
Focusing on the hissing of his metal body, the faint sizzle of his metal-joints every time he moves and most of all, focusing on the faint but constant ache of all the parts that are no longer his. 

The never ending pain of his non-existing limps has become another companion. Keeping him awake most nights, Genji appreciates the drumming ache every time the world becomes too much or his mind becomes too loud.  
The pain reminds him he‘s really alive, the anger helps him feel every part of his body that is still human.

Once Genji can no longer look at himself, his fist collides with the mirror and the glass shatters into hundreds of pieces.  
There’s no pain there, the prosthesis hissing quietly when he unclenches his hands, stretches his fingers. There‘s no blood, only pieces of glass laying in the sink and on the floor around him.

Death never really left him, and yet he somehow knows he wishes for it. Picks all the fights, takes all the risks. His body and mind caught in a cycle of anger and hatred.  
Death had been peaceful but living with it? Living with his death had been by far the worse fate.


	3. Chapter 3

III

Your hands are cold and so is everything around you. It’s the middle of the night and you are utterly alone. The stars are hidden behind clouds and smog.  
Still your ears are filled with the distorted voices of your squad, occasional static making the conversation hard to follow.

“You know, gentlemen, it could have been so much easier. You could have never come here, or at least have the decency to walk back out the front door and not mess with my business. But look at this mess you made. Who’s going to clean up all the blood?”

Closing one eye shut, you focus through your scope and slowly let your sight roam over the many windows of the apartment complex on the other side of the street canyon. Most of them are dark. The whole building seems empty and abandoned, only home to a few lost souls. 

You can hear Jesse reply something with his usual snark, voice dripping with irony. He’s teamed up with Commander Reyes, while Jones and Genji took the way around, trying to catch the target off guard, entering the building from the other side.  
You on the other hand - you are the back-up-plan and the ace in their sleeve. You are the one making sure there are no other surprises. A guarantee to have -and keep- the upper hand.

Finding the leader of the organization hiding in the estimated spot, it counts as an inconvenience once he took off, retreating deep into the building and out of your sight. With nobody in view, your team is on their own and your job is reduced to ensuring nobody else enters the stage without your team knowing about it.

“I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement. More bloodshed is not my interest”

You can almost see the foul grin on this ugly bastards face.

This time Reyes answers and his gravelly voice carries a hint of impatience. Everybody wants this to just be done and over with. Either he complies and takes the easy way out by getting himself some new metal bracelets, or he dies. It is as simple and coldhearted as that.

“In position”

Jones’ voice layers over the others and a shaky breath escapes into the cold air around you. Although you have no idea how many people are inside the building, knowing that Jones and Genji are ready to intervene calms your nerves. They are good fighters and an even better team. You always admired the way they managed to work so effortlessly beside each other - few words needed.

Taking yet another stuttering breath, you sweep the windows another time. Still no movement. Still no light.  
As you make out the front door of the building, something catches your interest out of the corner of your eye.  
It takes your mind crucial moments to register the red light blinding you. It takes another crucial moment before you process what the red light is. 

Whatever follows happens in the span of a few seconds.

You hit your elbow on the boarder of the rooftop, pain shooting through your left arm.  
Desperately trying to pinpoint the source of the laser sight, desperately trying to find the enemy sniper, you scope out the other buildings around you.  
The blinding red light sits in a parking structure not far away, in one of the highest levels. The red line, mockingly dancing in front of you, making you shiver even more and your hands tremble as you clutch your weapon tighter, readjusting your grip and ignoring the pain shooting up your left arm, before locking on sight yourself.

You are too slow.  
The shot rings out and echoes through the empty streets.  
You know you lost as your world explodes into blinding white and all-consuming pain.

Rifle clattering to the floor, your body follows only moments later. The concrete beneath you is rough, the coldness seeping through your clothes the moment your body hits the floor.  
Blind and panicked you clutch at the source of the pain, feeling the fragments of your collarbone shift beneath your touch, splinters of bones digging deeper into your body while your hands desperately try to staunch the bleeding. 

Your blood is sticky and warm, the liquid seeping through your clothes and fingers, spreading beneath you like a crimson shadow. Maybe you bit your lip or your tongue maybe something else got damaged while falling but you taste the iron in your mouth, the blood filling your throat like syrup while it gets increasingly harder to breath.

Static fills your ears before someone calls your name. It’s far away, muffled and you are in no condition to answer. Choking on the blood and the panic, you gurgle, desperate to call out for help, your team, anybody. You hear your name again, can somehow make out the raspy voice of your commander, shouting orders and getting cut off by more static. 

Eventually your grip loosens, fingers slipping away when you no longer have the strength to press on the wound. Curling into yourself, it seems to be your last attempt at fighting off the cold. By now you shake uncontrollable, panic, pain and coldness taking hold of your body. 

And as your body grows numb, more and more precious blood leaving your system and seeping into the cracks of the cold cement rooftop, realization eventually hits. Maybe this is it. The moment - _your_ moment - to die. 

Your time had come far sooner than you would have ever imagined. No longer abstract and vague - death now sits right before you, patiently waiting while baring its teeth as the stars blur into the dark, polluted night sky of the city.

*

No matter how many people he killed, how much he spread death like an infectious virus since his second chance, Genji is not prepared.  
He knows how blood works, knows that it looks like more than it actually is, but the way it spreads around her body makes his heart ache.

Her face is ashen, her lips a slight blue, even her hair seems duller as it soaks in her own blood. It’s Jones picking up her limp body, propping her against her chest. She cries out in pain but all it does is giving him relief. If she feels pain she’s still awake, alive.

Their target, the arms dealer - the one who was spitting all the great words at them when he was hidden behind concrete and surrounded by soldiers - is silent now. His face bruised and his nose broken, he’s only whimpering, one eye already swollen shut. For all the fights Genji had with Jesse, he knows the cowboy packs a punch. Genji felt it himself often enough. The satisfaction seeing their enemy bound and gagged and beaten is small in the face of her injuries.

Reyes tries his best to raise a dropship, get an evac but Fio’s comms stay silent. Genji feels the coldness of his metal body. 

While Jesse occupies himself with their enemy, kicking and grunting while he tries to release his anger in the only way he knows, Genjis mind drifts back to other, simpler nights.

Those nights had been difficult and complex in their own way, but what would he give to find her in his own bed, than on this cold floor, lying in her own blood.

“You gotta stay awake now, you hear me? You don’t get to just nope out now! Do you hear me!” Jones shouts and Genji reluctantly turns to look at her; pretty face momentarily twisted in fear and desperation. Jones frantically looks around, desperately looking for help, for support until her eyes lock with his. She reaches with a trembling hand, stained with blood that isn’t hers.  
“Genji! Help!”

Settling next to the two women, Genji feels some kind of calm wash over him. While Jones’ hands desperately try to stem the bleeding on her shoulder, her body is limp and pale and cold. He hears her breath, shallow and quick. Her eyes are rolling, bloodshot white taking the place of her colorful irises.  
“What do I do?” Jones asks and looks at him as if he holds all the answers.  
He doesn’t.

“Stay”

This is all he can offer her. For all the times he send her away, told her to go, he feels as if it is too late to backtrack now. “Stay with me” he adds, trying to establish eye contact, but failing. He focuses on her lips instead, sees the blood staining the cracked skin like morbid lipstick, her teeth tinted crimson.

Another look, scanning her pale face, lids growing heavy, no longer shivering in the cold, Genji realizes she is dying. Fio won’t make it in time, neither will O’Deorain or any other medic who might be able to pull her back from the brink of death. 

He pushed her away too many times and now she won’t be able to return. The finality of the situation makes his whole body ache.

Genji knows death. Looking up at the night sky, it reminds him of his own. But there are no petals, no old wood - only hard concrete and a purple sky. Barely any stars are visible through the smog of the city.

This is the death he warned her about. 

The sadness of this realization settles in with the ferocity of a punch. He feels the rush of adrenaline, the feeble attempt to make himself cope with the situation. It’s the first time in a long time that he actually feels the biting cold of the night.

Jones’ hand is gentle but shaking, warm but wet with blood when she reaches out for his good - his real - hand. No matter how much smaller her hand is, her grip is strong, staining his palm red. While she presses his fingers together in her attempt to find hold, Genji grips her hand just as tight.

Minutes creep by as their teammate fights for her life. Besides the occasional sputter of blood, some weak coughs in an attempt to free her lungs of blood, she is silent.  
Her skin taking a waxen tone, Genji offers Jones his mechanical hand, while he picks up the pale limb of his friend. She’s freezing, long past the part where she shivers and hurts, it is _her_ hand now that does not return his grip.

Thinking of it, he has a hard time defining their relationship. She is not his lover. He stopped caring about people that way a long time ago. But still, she’s more than just another teammate, more than someone he meets at work. She‘s a friend, just like Jones. Both of the girls somehow sneaking their way into his heart.  
They were always good to him, never made any jokes, never tried to rile him up.  
They are friends and although he does not always get along with the cowboy, the Blackwatch squad is the closest he got to a family these days. 

Genji holds her hand, feels the pain ghosting over his face, the unfamiliar sting behind his eyes when her lids flutter open, her gaze unfocused and distant. Yet she somehow manages to smile, a weak and twisted thing, before a shaky breath parts her lips.  
The cloud of warm air is small, dissolving into the night just moments later.

“You are not alone” are all the words Genji can offer her and it hurts forcing the sentence over his lips. 

_Hope it will be quick_ , he remembers and it makes his heart twist at the sight of her. Nothing about her death is quick, nothing about her bullet wound being immediately fatal.  
She gurgles another time, a trail of blood creeping down her chin as she coughs out even more blood. Her eyes are wandering around now, as if she’s searching something before they lock with his, unsteady.

_Hope you’re not alone_ is the only statement Genji can turn into reality.  
Jones holds her up, some already soaked fabric still pressed onto her wound. By now it’s more of a reassuring sight to them than to actually keep her from bleeding out. By the look of her entry wound, Genji knows the exit wound must be far worse, Jones’ pants and the floor around them drenched in blood.

Jesse and Reyes stand nearby. While the cowboy resolved to violence towards the only person in his reach, his knuckles are torn and bleeding, the faint lines on his face deep with worry and frustration. He paces back and forth, the same five steps, back and forth, back and forth.

Reyes is still talking, trying to get any kind of contact, any kind of help. His voice is low, stern, his face an unreadable mask of stoicism. Genji knows how this works. Leader’s don‘t get to show emotions - weakness, fear. His father admired that trait in Hanzo - hated how emotional and cocky Genji could always get and he indulged it even more just out of spite. But this is different because Genji knows it would help nobody if Reyes would panic, effectively raising the desperation to a level of pure chaos.  
He’s distant, but it’s only because he has to.  
By now their Commander is the only one to feign control.

“Genji...” Jones whispers and her words are weak, throat tight from suppressed tears.  
When Genji follows her gaze, he realizes his dying companion still looks at him, eyes clearer now, mouth slightly parted.  
She speaks and her words are interrupted by blood and coughs, the strain of speaking visible on her face.

“I’m – I’m not afraid... anymore”

Hearing her speak these words, hurts. She’s past any pain, past the fear, the panic, the agony. Her body gave up the fight and her mind now embraces it. Just like he did.

He hears Jones sob, hears the chime of Jesse’s spurs, the strained voice of Commander Reyes.  
Genji is the only one who knows this, knows Death. He’s the only one who really knows what comes next.

“You don’t have to be” he reassures her, his thumb gently rubbing her knuckles.  
“We are all right here” Jones adds and her voice is weak but her eyes lock with his. Genji knows her words are just as much meant for him.

A long, deep breath leaves her blood-stained lips, eyes shifting to stare into the night sky. Genji follows her gaze, staring up into the night. It’s still just clouds and discolored sky, greeting him. There are no stars, there is no moon. Nothing is serene, nothing is peaceful about this night.

He focusses back on her when he feels a light trembling of her hand and hears another stuttering breath escape her.  
After that there is only silence and strained caution while they wait for another breath, another heartbeat.  
There is only silence.

With her heartbeat and breathing gone, the silence that follows her death swallows him up whole. He no longer hears the cries of his teammates, Jones’ panicked hands smearing blood over her still face. He does not hear Jesse, who finally breaks his cycle of steps to fall down beside him, another bruised hand holding her body. 

Everything is numb.  
Her dull eyes stare into the cheap night sky.

He caresses her hand long after she is gone, keeping it warm long after the rest of her body grows cold.  
Eventually her hand grows cold too.

And it’s the moment they take her away, send her into the belly of the dropship that arrived too late with all the medicine and supplies needed for her survival, that Genji realizes a crucial aspect about death.  
If it’s not quick, it’s painful but if that is over, it’s over. For her, - just like for him back then - death ends with death.  
For the rest of the team, her death is only the beginning.  
He remembers his mother’s death, the emptiness she left behind and the many years it took him to get over her loss, the lifetime it took his father.  
The most frightening thing is the void death leaves behind for all the people who dare cared.

Stepping away from her is the hardest part and only then does he realize that Jones holds his hand again, bloody and weak.  
All he sees are exhausted faces, frozen tear streaks lining the features of his team.

Nobody speaks as they board the Orca, leave the rooftop and the bloodbath.

Genji does not remember whatever follows after for the days to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death is a big part of almost every bigger story I have and with this small piece, 16 months after, I'm still not able to talk about it but maybe I can write about it. And I just lost someone else, so maybe I _need_ to write about it.  
> The original version of this is different, but it's also too personal for now. Yet, it is a start to get it out of my mind and on the paper.  
> Coping with Death at my own pace.


End file.
